


the devil tips his hat to me

by blackkat



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [62]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Thieves, First Meetings, Flirting, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Orochimaru in a corset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 05:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12204420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: If this airship lasts through one more round of Fire Country, it will be a miracle, Orochimaru thinks.





	the devil tips his hat to me

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on my Tumblr: How about a steampunk AU? Richman Orochimaru and Mechanic Sakumo? Or mechanic Orochimaru and charming thief Sakumo, maybe.
> 
> Outfit references [here for Sakumo](https://www.historicalemporium.com/store/vict_mens_21.php#) and [here for Orochimaru](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/e4/20/c9/e420c9c460b94d0ab5433e45bca2146f--sexy-steampunk-steampunk-costume.jpg)

If this airship lasts through one more round of Fire Country, it will be a miracle, Orochimaru thinks grimly, throwing all of his weight behind the lever and wishing vainly for Tsunade's strength. She’s currently three floors up, though, cursing viciously at one of the main cogs, and there’s no _time_.

Gears creak, grind, shudder. Orochimaru grits his teeth, twists his body up, and slams a foot into the wall for an ounce more leverage.

With a scream of metal, the gear jars back into place, and Orochimaru drops back to the ground, fully prepared to kill just about anyone who speaks to him. Preferably Danzō, for refusing the overhaul of the airship that Orochimaru suggested on the grounds of _preserving a proud piece of our heritage, my boy, we can't risk it, and we’ve never had a problem before_ —

“Ladies, malfunction on Deck 8!” Jiraiya calls from the catwalk where he’s watching outputs. “Something’s clogging the engine up there.”

Tsunade's snarl of frustration makes Orochimaru wince just a little, because that’s a word she only uses when she’s truly at the end of her patience. “I’ll go, if you can't be bothered,” he tells Jiraiya, pitching his voice to carry. “How is Engine 3?”

Jiraiya waves to show he heard and leaps lightly across the bridges, deft despite his size, to check another wall of gauges. “Looks like we’re still down about ten percent. What, your whispering sweet nothings didn’t work this time? Maybe if you give it a kiss—”

“Jiraiya, if you want to come down here and _help_ —” Tsunade starts, on the edge of a growl.

Jiraiya looks down at Orochimaru, eyes wide, and mouths _save me_ very clearly. Not that Orochimaru blames him; Tsunade's been known to start throwing _them_ at the mechanisms when she’s this irritated.

“I'm going to need him to watch Engine 3,” he says, and gives Jiraiya a look that makes it clear he’s going to be expecting repayment for his sacrifice.

Jiraiya claps his hands together and makes a face of fervent thanks.

There's another snarl, a clang, a crash. Metal shrieks, and Tsunade hisses, “Piece of _junk_ , you damned heap of _scrap metal_ I'm going to turn you into _corset boning_ just see if I don’t—”

In the face of her wrath—and it takes quite a lot for Tsunade to start threatening the engines she normally dotes on—Orochimaru snatches up his kit of tools, catches hold of one of the pullies, and hooks his foot in the stirrup as he tugs. It rises quickly, and Jiraiya gives him a salute as he passes.

“Think of me fondly,” he says, though he’s grinning. “And bring flowers to my funeral.” Another loud clang makes him wince.

“Only the finest weeds,” Orochimaru promises, blandly, and smirks at the outraged face Jiraiya makes at him.

“Bastard!” Jiraiya calls after him as he lands on the uppermost balcony. “This is the thanks I get for saving your ass from bullies all through university?”

Orochimaru leans over the edge just enough for Jiraiya to see him rolling his eyes. “The only thing you did in university was procrastinate on your courses and leave mechanics all over the house,” he retorts.

“At least I didn’t build creepy prosthetics and leave _those_ lying around,” Jiraiya huffs, and Orochimaru hisses in offense.

“Those were scientific _breakthroughs_ ,” he retorts. “I—”

A wrench just misses his head as he ducks back, and Jiraiya yelps as a small cog bounces off his skull. “Tsunade!” he protests.

“Why do _I_ get the wrench?” Orochimaru demands, deeply offended.

“Because I knew you’d dodge it,” Tsunade retorts. “Now get moving and _do your work_ , boys, before I come up there and _make you_!”

Jiraiya winces, and Orochimaru will never admit it, but it’s the most understandable reaction to Tsunade in a temper. He makes a mental note to collect a pot of tea and those pastries she likes on his way back down and asks, “Deck 8, you said?”

With one last wary look at their fellow engineer, Jiraiya jumps back to the main instrument panel, gets one boot on the top of a massive dial, and scales the wall to reach one of the higher readouts. “Deck 8,” he confirms, looking it over. “Starboard propeller is at eighty-three percent and falling.”

Orochimaru frowns, eyes narrowing. It’s not a critical system, just another redundancy, but it shouldn’t be failing. He checked that engine before they left, and unless one of the passengers was fiddling with it…

“Don’t eat any guests, bastard,” Jiraiya says, the roll of his eyes obvious as he slides sideways to check another panel. “No matter how much they screech about those jewel thieves they’ve been having problems with. Just fix the engine and get back down here before you insult a prince or something.”

Orochimaru hisses at him, but tosses his kit over his shoulder to hang across his chest like a bandolier and turns for the main hall. Offending a prince is all too likely, given Danzō’s penchant for peddling tickets to anyone he feels has influence. Orochimaru’s seen more gold and gems among the airship’s guests than in the king’s court.

Small wonder there's been a rash of thievery among them.

The engineering crew isn’t supposed to be out among the passengers, but Orochimaru can't be bothered to give a damn, and stalks out into the hallway without caring who sees him pass. It’s obvious to anyone with sense that the ship is an outdated wreck, so no one should be surprised that it needs regular work, and Orochimaru isn’t going to crawl through seven maintenance tubes and up the outside of Engine 12 just to avoid alarming anyone.

For all its flaws, though, _The Will of Fire_ is still a lovely ship, Orochimaru thinks, eyeing the wood-paneled halls and the gilded tracery that scrolls across the visible metal. Old, a former warship refitted for the adventurous elite, but still strong. If he, Jiraiya, and Tsunade had been allowed to rebuild her engines, overhaul several of the more delicate systems, there wouldn’t be a problem, and there wouldn’t be any future problems, either. But as it is—

He grits his teeth, reminds himself that he promised their old teacher, Admiral Sarutobi, that he wouldn’t strangle Danzō with his own cravat, and shoves open the heavy steel door that leads to one of the rear stairways. Decks 6 through 8 are mostly observation rooms, along with a small library, and there isn’t much demand for service from the crew, so the stairs are clear. As Orochimaru passes the landings leading off, he can hear the murmur of voices, but it’s distant, muffled, and there's no aggravating strain of the orchestra playing the same set over and over.

It’s possible Orochimaru isn’t suited to the interaction that comes with being an airship engineer, but pretending that he is tends to be the only way he can get access to the truly impressive engines. Though, if Danzō makes another offer like this one, Orochimaru might just end up shoving it down his throat until he chokes. And Tsunade will probably help.

The stairway ends at another heavy door, and Orochimaru slips out, letting it fall softly shut behind him. This hall is empty as well, though a handful of doors leading off of it are standing open, and more music sounds from the wide, open-air deck at the end. Through the glass doors Orochimaru can just catch a glimpse of figures in gaudy finery, set against a backdrop of clouds, and sneers a little at the excess. Simplicity has fallen out of fashion, and Orochimaru is hardly one for demureness and restraint, but at least he has _taste._

Engine Room 8 is half-hidden behind a leafy palm in a gilded pot, and Orochimaru brushes through the fronds, unlocks the door with the key around his neck, and pushes in, letting it stand open to usher in some fresh air. Just from the sound of the massive engine, he can already tell something is off, and he frowns, watching the pistons move for a moment. No hesitation that he can see, but they're slower than they should be. If it’s a leak in the boiler, it will be an absolute headache to fix, especially because this is one of the engines he marked for replacement and Danzō waved off as perfectly sufficient.

“I suppose he’s tough and stringy enough that I could use his hide to patch you,” he tells the engine, dropping to one knee to check for uneven heating. The pressure gauges are registering normal, though, if a few marks lower than they should be, and Orochimaru sifts through possibilities as he assesses things. A blockage in the water pipe leading into the boiler, maybe? Or—

Near one of the valves at the back of the engine, something dark catches his attention, jarringly out of place amidst the burnished bronze and copper.

Eyes narrowing, Orochimaru reaches for it, twists beneath a churning piston and gets his fingertips on oiled cloth. Thick and serviceable, clearly not just a bit of silk, he thinks suspiciously, and tugs as best he can from his awkward angle.

It resists the shift, heavier than he expects, and—

“Well now,” a cheerful voice says. “What’s a lovely thing like you doing so far from the ball?”

Startled, Orochimaru drops, twists out of the way of the pistons as they slide past his ear, and rises to his feet facing the doorway. There's a man leaning there, tall and broad-shouldered, with his white hair pulled back in a loose tail, wearing a dark tailcoat and a deep silver waistcoat that echoes the color of his eyes. Most definitely a gentleman, and also very definitely not meant to be where he is.

“This is the engine room,” he says, and it takes effort to keep the bite out of his tone. “I don’t think you have business here.”

The man just smiles, and it’s a handsome expression on a handsome face, but Orochimaru isn’t entirely sure why it’s being directed at _him_.

“I just happened to catch sight of you,” the man says, and his eyes crinkle. They're the color of gunmetal, framed by pale lashes, and Orochimaru is very definitely not cataloguing the lines around them, the flicker of something like heat in them. “Forgive me, but I was hoping I could escort you.”

Orochimaru levels the man with an incredulous look. He’s very, _very_ obviously not anywhere close to formally dressed. There's soot on his face, and his hair is falling out of the bun it’s been in since he woke up. The leather of his corset boasts wide smears of grease, and the dark shirt beneath it is little better, tattered and singed. Even his boots are about as far from formal as possible, heavy and with hastily repaired laces. That _anyone_ could look at him and think he was a passenger, rather than one of the crew, makes him willing to revise his estimate of Jiraiya’s intelligence from _low_ to _higher than average for the species_. A true travesty.

“Escort me,” he says, tone dripping derision. “To the ball?”

Instead of indignation or embarrassment, the man just laughs. “Or to lunch,” he agrees easily, and that smile is…charming. Even though it most certainly shouldn’t be. “Anywhere you’d like, really.”

“The only place I plan to go is back to Engineering,” Orochimaru says tartly. “You should return to your…activities.” It’s very close to a sneer, but he’s never been one to suffer fools well, and the very worst the man can do is issue a complaint to Danzō. At this point Orochimaru will happily take the mark on his record if it gets him away from blithering idiots more quickly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees a flicker of movement in the shadows under the sprawl of the engine, but before he can turn to look the man takes a step forward, still smiling, but now the intent behind it is slightly darker, a little more heated. “Ah, you’ve got a quick tongue, lovely,” he says, almost a lament, but his grin is truly amused. “I'm Sakumo Hatake. Would you be willing to give me your name, if not your time?”

He is, Orochimaru thinks as he eyes the distance between them, _almost_ in arm’s reach. Or fist’s reach, depending on how this conversation progresses. “You most _certainly_ don’t have business knowing that,” he retorts.

“But I’d like to,” Sakumo says, and that was almost _too_ blatant, but his grin invites Orochimaru to laugh at him for it, and entirely despite himself Orochimaru feels a flicker of amusement curl through his chest. It’s not often that a gentleman knows how to poke fun at himself.

“Orochimaru,” he allows, because with Jiraiya at least it’s proven prudent to reward good behavior. He offers his hand, but instead of shaking it Sakumo grasps it gently, lifts it as he leans down and presses his lips to Orochimaru’s knuckles, lingering there for a long, deliberate moment.

“Orochimaru,” he repeats, and there's a light in his eyes that makes it startlingly hard for Orochimaru to look away. “It’s a _pleasure_ to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Orochimaru says dryly. “Out of my engine room.”

Sakumo actually laughs at that, a little wicked. He still hasn’t let go of Orochimaru’s hand. “Only if you come with me,” he bargains. “Lunch?”

There's a light tug, urging Orochimaru on, but charming or not, Orochimaru has never allowed himself to be pushed around, _especially_ not in his own territory. He jerks his hand, twisting it to grab Sakumo's wrist, then shifts his weight back sharply and drags the man off balance as he yelps. A drop, one foot lashing out to sweep Sakumo's feet right out from under him, and Orochimaru twists and helps him fall, landing on top of him as he hits the ground hard.

With a hum, Orochimaru slides a hand under Sakumo's tailcoat, letting his fingers ghost a few not entirely necessary touches over the muscle he can feel beneath expensive cloth. “I find it,” he says silkily, “ _very_ interesting that you're so invested in getting me out of this room. Something to do with all of that disappearing jewelry everyone keeps talking about? Maybe stashed in that bag that was sliding down into my engine, hm?”

Sakumo's stare is heavy, intent, and his smile is a challenge. “Lovely, you had your eyes on me the whole time. And I don’t see a bag.”

Orochimaru laughs, low and amused, and leans forward, dark hair brushing Sakumo's shoulders as he dips down to murmur, “I'm sure you don’t, but that little boy with the silver hair—he’s yours, isn’t he? Quick fingers.”

From the shadows above them, there's a sharp sound of surprise, and Orochimaru holds Sakumo's eyes, sees the realization that they’ve been discovered followed by something darker slip across his face.

Now there’s a pretty expression, Orochimaru thinks, and smiles. Letting go of Sakumo's wrists, he rises smoothly to his feet, tucks his hair neatly back behind his ears, and says slyly, “I’m afraid I’ll be occupied through lunch, but dinner is always a possibility, if you care to wait.”

There's a long pause, and Sakumo pushes up on his elbows, watching Orochimaru with careful consideration. “Just dinner?” he asks mildly.

Orochimaru arches an eyebrow in return. “Is that what you were inviting me to?” he counters. “ _Just_ dinner?”

A smile curls Sakumo's mouth, with the barest edge of teeth. “Well, I'm always open to including another person in my…activities afterwards.”

From above, there's a distressed, offended, disgusted noise.

Orochimaru snorts, then turns away. “Out of my engine room,” he repeats. “And no more blocking the valves with stolen goods.”

“Aye-aye,” Sakumo says lazily, and when Orochimaru narrows his eyes at him he grins. “At seven, then?”

Tipping his head, Orochimaru considers how long it will take him to escape Jiraiya and Tsunade's grasp, once they learn about this, and then amends, “Eight. Don’t get tossed overboard before then, or I’ll be rather cross.”

Sakumo laughs. “If I have unlacing you from that corset to look forward to, I’ll be a damned _saint_.”

Orochimaru eyes the numerous tiny mother-of-pearl buttons on Sakumo's shirt, the matching clasps on his waistcoat, and smirks. It will be like unwrapping a gift, and that’s always pleasant. “I doubt you could be even if you tried.”

“Well, lovely, you know what they say.” Sakumo gets to his feet, close enough that Orochimaru can feel the heat of him, and leans in. He wraps a long lock of hair around his fingers, then raises it to his lips and kisses it lightly, holding Orochimaru’s eyes. “The devil is and always has been a gentleman.”

Orochimaru doesn’t think he’s ever looked forward to a dinner more.


End file.
